


Quiet Days

by Fervent_dreamer



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Body Worship, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sweet/Hot, Vaginal Sex, slight orgasm delay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 07:15:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20042008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fervent_dreamer/pseuds/Fervent_dreamer
Summary: In early days, she had tried to make him speak, to take charge, or change the pace. But it didn’t take her long to learn that Frank would not be rushed on quiet days. She quickly realized that she should just settle in and prepare herself to be stripped down to her bones and then for him to rebuild her from the ground up.





	Quiet Days

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I'm a little late to this fandom, but here's a thing for you all! Not beta'd so any c/c is appreciated.
> 
> Enjoy.

Karen’s apartment holds an orange glow in the late afternoon sunlight. Clothes are scattered along the path from the doorway to the bedroom. They lay less like they had been thrown and more like they had been stripped with patient care and pooled on the floor. The only sounds in her bedroom are her soft gasps and his shuddering breaths.

He’s a vision, propped up as he is against her head board, an expanse of muscle and scars laid out just for her. His eyes dart all over her, from her loose hair spilling down her shoulders, down to where they’re joined.

She gives slow almost lazy flicks of her hips as she torturously rides his cock. Frank’s got one hand at the juncture of her hip and the other is hot on her back where he holds her and controls her pace. Each slick slide of her movements adds a coal onto the fire building between them.

Some days the sex is frantic and heated. He fucks her savagely in a way that’s half life-affirming and half an exorcism of his mental demons. He’ll lift her and pound her into a wall or throw her onto their bed and make her scream with every delicious slam of his hips while she rakes her pleasure across his back with her nails, spurring him to give it to her, to give her everything because she can handle it all. Frantic sex was peppered with swearing commands, challenges, and adulations.

This is not frantic sex. Karen clutches him as hard as she can, with both her hands and her walls. She holds the contraction until he whimpers and jerks involuntarily into her. Only then does she move so slowly up and then even slower back down sending shivers through them both.

Other days the sex is fun. He flirts with in ever increasingly ridiculous ways. He dances with her in the kitchen, nibbling at the ticklish spot behind her ear, making her head tilt and lean into him even as she simultaneously tries to push him away. He pinches her ass and growls as he chases her around the apartment, delighting in every shriek he’s able to elicit from her. He talked the most during playful sex, making crude jokes all men seemed to know and giving her shit because he loved it when she dished it right back to him. He talked dirty to her to try and make her blush, then she’d drive him crazy turning the tables back on him.

“Jesus, you’re mouth,” he’d say, then kiss her senseless just to “catch a break, Christ, woman”. This is not a day for playful sex either.

Karen leans forward, brushing her lips against his in something less like a kiss and more just a point of connection for them to share breath while she torments the both of them at his behest. She pants because she can’t get enough air and he give a little groan as he soothes circles into her back.

More rare, was quiet sex. In the hours leading up to it, he was usually monosyllabic or even completely nonverbal. He would hold on to parts of her, giving her ankle light strokes as they sat on the couch. He tucked her hand in his pocket when they walked down the street. He would even give her a shoulder rub while she worked at her desk. Any time he could have contact with her, he would take it. Hours of this would pass by until he eventually drew her into a kiss so tender and sweet that tears stung her eyes, every time. On any given day, he never minded going down on her, but on quiet days he turned it into a fucking art, bringing her to the peak often enough and slow enough that Karen was half out of her mind by the time he pierced the center of her.

In early days, she had tried to make him speak, to take charge, or change the pace. But it didn’t take her long to learn that Frank would not be rushed on quiet days. She quickly realized that she should just settle in and prepare herself to be stripped down to her bones and then for him to rebuild her from the ground up.

At the top of her next stroke, Frank shifts and halts her movements. All he has to do is grab both globes of her ass and he keeps her weight suspended with the strength of his forearms alone.

God damn, he was so fucking strong. She keens, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She feels his aborted gasps at the base of her throat. Only the tip of him is in her right now and she wants to cry because it’s not enough, because he’s an ocean away.

The way he stares at her—God the way he stares. He looks at her like she holds all the secret wonder in the world. His dark eyes burn like smoldering coals. She’s already hot, she’s already trembling, and that look sends her into a fever pitch but there’s nothing she can do about it because he’s still holding her aloft.

Ancient goddesses must have felt like this when their first supplicants knelt on the ground before them, staring up at them with intense awe. His gaze humbles her. It always has. It took practice for her to meet it. She had to embrace the utter vulnerability that it required to keep her liquid blue eyes open and meet his gaze. But now she meets it without hesitation.

Her legs are trembling but he’s as steady as a chair. His back is against her headboard and their pillows support and surround him, their covers pool around her calves. The longer they stare, the longer he holds her there, Karen feels the two of them unraveling into tiny strings.

She’s leaking. She’s aching. The wetness dripping out of her speaks to her desperation for him. Finally, finally, after a small eternity he lowers her back down.

She can’t control the tiny noises and whimpers that escape her even as she bites her lip hard enough to bleed. He huffs in short humid bursts through his nose and she can feel it first against her collar bone, then her neck, and then her ear as he slides home. His cock is wide enough and long enough that it fills every inch of her, causing tears to spill from her eyes.

It’s relief and it’s not enough. She wants to come so badly but she’s cuffed by his gaze and restrained by his hands. She’s his willing prisoner but she—she needs—

He knows. She sees it in his eyes. He knows. He encourages her to rock back and forth instead of rise and fall. He’s going to make her come like this, just like this. He holds her shoulder and snakes a hand between them.

Karen licks at his lips when his thumb finds her clit. He sucks briefly on her tongue and presses a small kiss at the corner of her mouth then a second at her chin before putting a hint of distance again between them.

Each pass of his thumb against her sparks her higher, and higher, and higher still—God, Frank! Just like the drop of water that causes the glass to overflow it is one more pass of his fingers that tips her over the edge.

Her earth shatters against the ground like a plate and she can no longer control herself. She twitches and shudders and grips as silent screams fail to escape her. She can no longer keep her eyes open, no matter how hard she tries.

Frank bucks against her in response. It’s quick but only when compared to how slow they’ve moved thus far. His fingers never stop their motions. Each jerk of hips stitches the unraveled threads of them together into an interconnected tapestry. If it was possible to create soulmates, Karen imagined it would feel something like this.

He coaxes her through every aftershock, every gasp, every shiver. It lasts longer than any other orgasm she has experienced in her life. Only when she’s sobbing and scrabbling at his wrists in over-sensitivity, does he grab her shoulders with both hands, pulls her down and coats the inside of her.

For the first time in what feels like days, he breaks her gaze by clenching his eyes shut and pushing his head against her chest. She’s drained, but does her best to twist her hips and clench around him, milking him for everything he has. Petting his hair and kissing the top of his head, she soothes him through his own climax.

A thing that she’s noticed about Frank, is that he feels and feels deeply. His emotions tend to overwhelm him and steal his speech. When he’s angry, he has a tendency to lash out at objects and furniture to release some of his rage before he can begin to verbalize what he’s feeling. It always takes a beat, but then he can find the words. The way he does it, makes her think someone taught him how.

Karen’s theory on quiet days, is that Frank is overwhelmed. She can’t tell whether it’s by love, by sorrow, by fear, or by some combination of them all; but she has the sneaking suspicion that life is drowning him so she does her best to become his solid ground.

When he’s finished, he slumps against her, spent and exhausted.

She takes his head in her hands and lifts him up so she can press lingering kisses on his cheeks, his jaw, and finally his lips. He’s just as wrecked as he is after being blown up and tortured with his head lolling where she guides him. It takes him almost a full minute, but he finally gathers himself enough to kiss her back. 

And oh boy, does he kiss her back. He slides down, tipping them over so they’re both laying on the mattress now and he devours her lips just like he devoured her cunt earlier, deeply, thoroughly, and without reserve.

Karen never feels so cherished as she does after quiet sex. She does her best to hold him and to return the feeling to him. She wants to show Frank that he means just as much to her as she does to him.

She can tell the exact moment that his mood shifts. The kisses change from a reverent gentleness to two firm pecks to her lips before he pulls away. She drowns in the night sea of his dark eyes as his hand alternates between laying on her neck and brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Hey, Karen.” His voice croaks from disuse and it’s the first thing he’s said all day.

She has to stop herself from laughing. _That’s_ the first thing he says to her? A giggle still escapes her, but she’s smiling and kissing this ridiculous man before he can take offense.

“Hi, Frank.”


End file.
